Falling Down
by Steelburst
Summary: What if the Matrix of Leadership reformed and Optimus revived, but Sam didn't? In the Afterlife, he's given a choice: remain dead, or be resurrected with strings attached. Earth's future now lies in the servos of an orange Festiva.
1. Death & Arrival

**Title:** Falling Down  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> It's a surprise. But they're all slash.  
><strong>Chapter Note:<strong> I am not religious, please don't take offense to any mentions in the text.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> What if the Matrix of Leadership reformed and Optimus revived, but Sam didn't? In the Afterlife, he's given a choice: remain dead, or be resurrected with strings attached. Earth's future now lies in the servos of an orange Festiva.

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><p>Pain erupted through his body as a scream died on his lips. He couldn't feel anything—not the hot sun beating down on his skin, not the sweat running down his back, not the sand beneath his body—except for waves and waves of pain. He wanted to scream about the burning that was overtaking him, about the blackness that edged at his consciousness, but Sam found his lips unable to commune the sounds he wanted to emit. Instead, he was silent, though he swore the rapid beating of his heart could be heard by everyone within a five mile radius.<p>

A moment later, and it was gone. All the pain had just simply disappeared. Sam struggled to sit up, finding his joints stiff as his eyes cracked open. He had blacked out. That had to be it, and maybe all the pain was a dream. Grinning to himself, because he had survived whatever it was that attacked him, the teenager stood up, before his grin faded away almost immediately. The sock with the Matrix's dust was gone! It was not in his hand. Looking around wildly, he saw people running towards him. Will, Mikaela, his mom and dad. Hadn't he told them to go hide? Turning his attention back to his lost possession, he needed to find it.

"Guys! The Matrix! Help me find it!" he yelled, eyes rapidly flickering around for the sock. What if it had gotten buried in the sand? There was so much sand—he'd never find it. He looked to the flock of people suddenly as they ran past him like they hadn't heard his shouts. The Matrix was all they had to revive Optimus, and he had lost it. Sam was almost welcoming the reprimand from Mikaela, but she too ran right by him. He was expecting Will to try to usher him from the middle of the field, where he had not moved from. He was expecting his mom and dad to hug and kiss him because he had survived some sort of blast. But nothing—they all ran past him.

"Guys!" he shouted, turning around. What he saw made him freeze on the spot. There, lying limp in the sand, was him. Sam was looking at himself, as if he had a twin or something. Confusion passed over him, his mind trying to decipher some sort of reason why he was standing there, but also laying there in the sand. Mikaela screamed, dropping to her knees beside the fallen body, grabbing it and shaking it, demanding Sam to wake up. But that wasn't him—he was standing fine a few feet away. His mother screamed too, held back by his father as the medics rushed forward. Will grabbed Mikaela, pulling her away to give them room. Sam watched, unsure really of what was going on. That wasn't him.

"Hey! I'm right here!" he shouted at them, moving to his parents first. "Mom! Dad! I'm all right!" He waved his hand in front of his violently sobbing mother, before trying to grab her arm. To his horror, his hand phased right through her, as if he was a ghost. Eyes widening, he tried to touch her again, only for similar results. He tried to touch his father, but he only went right through the man. To test that it was really happening, Sam took a few steps, his entire body passing through the sobbing couple. He blinked. He didn't feel a thing.

A static-y wail caught his attention, his eyes flickering up to see Bumblebee, the yellow mech's faceplates contorting as a whine escaped his vocal processor.

"Bee!" Sam called, waving his arms. It was no use—Bumblebee's optics stayed on the body that lay in the sand a few feet away. Confused and distraught, Sam moved back over to it, watching as the medics ripped the rest of its shirt, putting the defibrillator paddles to its chest in attempt to restart the no longer beating heart.

Was he dead? Was this what they called an out of body experience? He moved over to himself, crouching down beside the medic.

"No, no, no, no," he chorused, smacking the body's face. "C'mon, let me back in! I'm not ready to die! I can't, I have to get the Matrix to Optimus, he has to stop The Fallen!" He was getting frantic, finding his hands went through the body, but the body wasn't coming back, and he wasn't waking up inside it. Closing his eyes tight, he counted to three before opening them again, finding himself still staring at the body, rather than looking out from it. Cursing, he tried again, this time praying that he would go back. He opened his eyes, finding the situation hadn't changed.

"Dammit!" he cried out, eyes watering. This was it. He had died on the battlefield before he could complete the one thing he had to do. He had one goal, just one—get the Matrix to Optimus and revive him. It was simple and he failed.

Slumping to his knees in the sand beside his own body, he shuddered, unable to really grasp the idea that he was dead, and Optimus was not coming back. He remembered talking about the afterlife with the commander, discussing where their species went. Optimus' spark would return to the Matrix.

Thought of the foreign relic made Sam draw his eyes to it, blinking in curiosity as the dust seemed to glow from the body's outstretched hand, before a light breeze passed by, picking the dust from the sand, separating it, and carrying it towards Optimus' exposed frame. Sam stood up quickly, running over to the mech and leaving the body, his parents, Mikaela and Will behind. He watched as the dust seeped into the spark chamber, before suddenly life was restored to the mech. Optimus coughed, blowing sand from his lip plates as his optics came online.

"Optimus!" Sam shouted, grinning despite his current problem. The leader of the Autobots was alive. "The Fallen! You have to stop him!" As the giant sat up, his optics flickered over the sand, before finding them locked with the body so small in comparison, the dead status striking him hard.

"Sam…" Optimus spoke, hearing the medics call time of death.

The next few hours seemed to happen too quickly for the seemingly dead human. Right before his eyes The Fallen stole the Matrix, using it to activate the machine which would destroy the sun. Jetfire sacrificed himself to give Optimus the power to stop their enemy. After destroying the machine, he and The Fallen fought to the death, ending with the ancient Prime going down in a haze of fire and sparks, before Megatron escaped, barely alive himself.

Sam watched as the body was covered with a tarp and loaded onto the helicopter, his parents and Mikaela going with it. Sam tried to get on the helicopter with them, several times in fact, but his now ghostly body just wouldn't stay on board, instead falling through the steel floor as if it weren't even there. Sitting on his knees, he watched numbly as the rest of the area cleared out—the Autobots leaving, the soldiers being picked up. By nightfall, he was completely alone, the cold air of the desert settling around him.

Unable to bear the emotional distress of being dead, Sam slumped over in the sand, letting his eyes close as darkness took over his mind.

The moment he chose to blink open his eyes he was blinded, a bright white assaulting his vision and making him screw his eyelids closed again. A second later, he tried again, using a little more caution this time. The whiteness went on forever, and it seemed to make up everything—the wall, the floor, the ceiling. If there were any of those things; it seemed like an endless white space of nothingness. Standing up, he looked in a complete circle, before looking down at himself. He was wearing a white pair of shorts and a white t-shirt, his skin cleaned and healed, the room temperature coaxing his tanned body.

"Samuel, right on time." Turning around on his heels, green eyes met dark blue ones.

"…Dumbledore?"

The man sighed and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. "Why does everyone insist that? My name is Mortimer."

"I think it's the beard… and robes. And the hat, definitely the hat."

"Regardless of such similarities, my name is Mortimer."

"Can I call you Dumbledore?" The man sighed, before giving a genuine smile.

"Whatever will help you cope." It seemed to all come crashing back to Sam—so fast it made his knees weak and he shuddered visibly. He remembered the screams from his mother, from Mikaela, the absolutely devastated look from his father, and the wails from Bumblebee. The pain he actually felt was nothing in comparison to the pain he saw in his friends and family. The way his body was strewn across the sand, limp and bleeding, would remain with him forever.

"I'm… dead," he spoke. The man nodded.

"Indeed you are, Samuel. Your life was sacrificed to the Matrix, so that it would reform and Optimus Prime would live."

"So… I died so Optimus would live?"

"Yes, it equals out to that." Sam thought about this, going silent. In a way, his death meant he had indirectly helped save the world. If he hadn't died, the Matrix dust would have been nothing but that—dust. And The Fallen would have destroyed the sun and everyone on Earth. His life, in comparison for six billion people. While being dead was not something he was particularly fond of, he understood.

"You are taking this surprising well. Most people scream and pull on my robes and tell me to send them back."

"Does that ever help?"

"No. I am merely the messenger."

"Have you come to tell me if I get into heaven or hell?" Sam was never a really religious person, but he found himself oddly nervous in the idea of where he'd be going next.

"No, I have come to tell you that you have a meeting to attend."

"A meeting? With Jesus?"

"Come." Dumbledore moved forward, his pristine robe dragging on the white nothingness, before passing Sam to a wooden door that had not been there before. Sam followed obediently, eyes widening as they came into a meeting room of sorts. The walls were a pale green, the floor a solid oak finish and a few windows that peered out into the white nothing. There was a long table in the middle, with only three chairs. Dumbledore gestured to one.

"Have a seat, Samuel. Primus and God will arrive momentarily."

"Primus…?" Sam repeated, suddenly confused. Wasn't that the Cybertronian God, so to speak? Doing as he was told, he sat down in the chair and watched as Dumbledore went back to the door, standing beside it silently. A minute passed before the door opened again, and a man in a business suit walked inside, nodding to Dumbledore before proceeding to the meeting table.

"Samuel J. Witwicky. It is nice to meet you."

"Um… you too, although, different conditions would have been nicer…" he commented, watching the man sit in one of the open chairs. The door once again opened, and in walked another man, this one in a similar business suit, although different in physical appearance.

"Sam." The man greeted, nodding as he sat down. Sam nodded in return.

"We have… or rather, Primus has" the one on the right gestured to the one on the left "a proposal for you." Sam looked to the one on the left.

"You're Primus?" he asked bluntly. He was expecting Primus to be a robot, not a human in a suit.

"It's a holoform, but yes, I am Primus." Before Sam could ask more questions, he continued. "Sam, despite The Fallen having been deactivated by Optimus, there are still dark times ahead—"

"_Dark_ doesn't even cover it," the man on the right snapped, glaring daggers at Primus. Primus sighed.

"I am aware. Forgive the interruption, Sam. I have an offer to make, to amend the atrocities that could possibly befall the third planet from the sun. It is entirely your choice." Sam's eyes flickered to the man on the right, watching as he stood with an angry expression, before leaving the meeting room.

"I can revive you—with certain conditions. Or you can remain dead, and enter the gates of your afterlife."

"What are the conditions if you revive me?" Sam demanded. He was liking the idea of being alive.

"Among others, you must protect Earth and prevent the destruction of the planet and all of its species."

"That's a pretty heavy job…" Sam muttered. "What's going to destroy it? How am I supposed to stop it?"

"I cannot tell you that."

"That makes it really difficult, then, doesn't it?" The teenager attempted to control himself. He wasn't sure how the Cybertronian God was going to take to his sudden frantic snippy attitude. Much to his luck, Primus paid no mind to it and continued speaking calmly.

"Optimus and the rest of the Autobots will assist you, but the outcome must be the planet's safe wellbeing." He paused a moment. "But it is your choice, Samuel. Be revived and save your planet, or reside in your afterlife and take comfort in knowing soon your friends and family will join you."

"You really know how to give a guy options," Sam muttered, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. He thought it over for all of three seconds.

"I'll do it. Revive me, and I'll be Earth's protector or whatever."

"There are some limitations, Samuel. You cannot tell your friends or family who you are."

"Why not?"

"Because you simply cannot. If they are capable of figuring it out, then I will lift the limitation. However, until or if that happens, you cannot tell them your previous identity was Samuel James Witwicky, nor can you tell them you were revived from the dead." Sam sat in silence, digesting that information.

"You will be reborn as a Cybertronian Mech, allied to the Autobot cause," Primus continued, voice steady.

"So, I'll be able to transform into a car?"

"Yes, when on Earth's surface." His mind immediately began pegging all the sleek cars he'd love to turn into. Bugatti. Lamborghini. Porsche. Mercedes-Benz. So many beautiful and fast options. He felt giddy with all the choices.

"So, if I can't tell anyone I'm Sam, do I get to pick a new name?"

"If you'd like." He thought about it, thinking of all the names the Autobots had, and of all the names they had mentioned.

"I got it. Superawesome Shot."

"…No." Primus snorted. "Your new name will be Rogue."

"You just said I could pick it out!"

"I changed my mind. I am also glad your parents did not let you name yourself." Sam frowned. "Remember now, _Rogue_, you cannot tell anyone of your previous identity unless they happen to figure it out for themselves, nor can you tell them you were brought back from the afterlife."

"I remember, I remember." Was it bad he was excited to get to Earth to get his new alt form? Even still sitting there as a human, he was quite excited. He would be able to see his Autobot friends again, and not have to worry about being accidentally squashed. He'd be on their level. Absently, he made the decision to go with a Bugatti alt form—he'd be fast and sleek, able to outrun any Decepticon.

"And one more thing, Samuel," Primus spoke. He wasn't next to Sam anymore—nothing was. In the moment he took to blink, his entire surroundings disappeared, and there was nothing but darkness; he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. The Cybertronian's voice came from nowhere, but at the same time, it came from everywhere. "If you fail to save Earth, I will have no choice but to return you to your afterlife."

Sam was suddenly rendered unconscious, his mind slipping into stasis as his new form was given life. In nothing but his protoform he floated gently through space, a silent pull from Earth's gravitational field dragging him towards the planet.

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><p>Review? 8D<p> 


	2. Life Sucks

**Chapter Note: **Short chapter, I'm afraid.

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><p>Impact on Earth was not pleasant. His body travelled at ungodly speeds before he crashed into an open field—similar to a belly flop in a swimming pool. That was his first clue that he was conscious; the dulling pain that flared through his body. What was centered in his chest and general rib area spread to his arms and legs before fading out. Sam, for a minute, wondered what he'd see if he opened his eyes—would it still be that suffocating blackness? Or would he be back on Earth, perhaps among the Autobots? He didn't know where he landed, but it was obvious that he had been in space, before being dragged to Earth. Finding the urge to open his eyes—optics, he reminded himself—Sam struggled for a moment, before they finally onlined. When they came online, so did all his other senses; the distinct scent of dirt entered his olfactory sense; the sound of chirping crickets was caught in his audio receptors; and the dirt had found its way onto his taste buds, too. This led him to believe he lay on his stomach, face planted in the ground.<p>

It took a few moments before he could move his limbs, but finally they obeyed his command, the soft sound of gears grinding and metal shifting echoed into the night before Sam moved his servos and used them to lift his torso from the ground, into a kneeling position. It was then he was able to see what his belly-flop into the dirt had done; he created a crater roughly the size of his body. Snorting with amusement, he glanced around the rest of the environment, noting that he had landed nowhere relatively near civilization. In fact, he was surrounded by an empty field with over grown grass and who knew what lurking inside it.

Getting into a kneeling position had been difficult, because the transition from a human body to a mechanical one was not easy. A human body functioned different—there wasn't a separate movement system that carried out physical movements. Which would explain why Sam was having a hard time getting himself to stand up. He had to control all these different systems at once.

"Should've given me a damn manual," the former human grunted, face plates forming an obvious frown. He was surprised by his own voice—it was mechanical sounding, and not something he was used to. However, if he listened closely enough, he could hear his human voice beneath the robotic tone. It wasn't the same, but it was something to hold onto.

As Sam moved, climbing out of the crater he had created, he couldn't help but to notice how heavy his body felt—like someone tied a semi-truck to it and he was being forced to pull it along (not that his new frame wouldn't allow such a thing; getting used to his strength and abilities was a whole different story, however). As he stepped out of the hole, he was able to see that it was nightfall, but at the same time, the darkness didn't hinder his sharp eyesight at all. And boy, was his vision sharp—he could see just about every blade of grass in the area with excruciating detail. Deciding to test his new eyesight on something else, he shifted his eyes down to his new form.

Sam was now a tall mech. His form was completely black and slender, but knew when he adopted an alt mode he'd get not only color, but some bulk as well. Right now, he was in his protoform, basically the human equivalence of being naked. On his right bicep was the Autobot insignia, which meant that his optics, could he see them, were blue.

Taking a moment, the former human absorbed the information that he was once again among the living. He had died, seen his afterlife, and been brought back. He had met God and Primus along the way. It was an interesting story—one he'd love to tell his mother or father, or share with the Autobots what their deity was like. But the limitation that he could not simply deflated his mood. The pain that was etched on their faces, the screams of his mother and Mikaela, Bumblebee's mournful wails… it'd all remain with him for as long as he lived. The spark in his chassis gave a sorrowful pulse, before Sam sighed. He could only hope that they'd be able to figure out it was really him. But then again—Primus wasn't there, so how was the Cybertronian God going to stop him from revealing such information? Although, did he really want to break the rules given to him by such a figure? The answer was simple; if the truth eased pain, he'd take whatever punishment the God had to dish.

Sam didn't stand in place for long before he started moving. He wasn't given a second chance at life for no reason—he had a job to do. A job that he knew absolutely nothing about. The apocalypse was coming (or so he thought) and he had to prevent it. Knowing he'd need the Autobot's help, he made himself a to-do list, which started with first tracking down his beloved Bugatti—which he decided would be his alt mode of choice—and then followed by finding the Autobots. Not being able to tell them who he was would be difficult and hinder things; what was he supposed to say? He was a prophet from Primus, and there were "dark times ahead" as the God so put it?

Sam wasn't sure how long he walked, but he was getting tired of it because it was simply taking too long. Opting against a Bugatti—because really, where was he going to find one?—he decided he'd take the first vehicle he found. Which brought a loud groan from his lip plates as his optics fell upon a rundown car. It was an old Festiva, burnt orange in color, windshield cracked, tires deflated and the metal rusting. He didn't want it, but he wanted to get somewhere faster. Granted, he wasn't sure how fast a Festiva could go, but he doubted it was over 50mph.

"I could always change later," he voiced to himself, nodding with his justification of why he was going to adopt the piece of junk as his alt form. Now, the difficult part—figuring out how to activate his scans. And also, where was it even located? In his optics? Did he just have to stare intently at the Festiva to turn into it? Or was it in his chassis, and did he have to do an awkward chest thrust at it? Unsure, he tried both methods, and was disappointed to find neither worked. Growing a little frustrated, he ground his denta together, before thinking perhaps he just needed a password.

"Abrakadabra!" Nothing happened. "Scan: Activate!" Nothing. "Work, damn you!" Still no response. Having the urge to kick something, Sam turned in place and kicked up the dirt of the old road, not wanting to accidentally punt the Festiva across the field. Mid-kick, however, and something activated in his chassis, a bright light flooding out and running over the car before he automatically transformed into an identical Festiva, but with inflated tires.

"And they say a temper never solves anything," Sam said smugly, his voice projecting through the radio. Taking a moment to get aqauinted with his new, temporary form, he let his engine purr to life before taking off down the dirt road. It was certainly a lot faster than walking, and after traveling nearly twenty miles, he finally came to a road sign, and cursed. The sign was in a foreign language, one Sam didn't know.

"I don't speak Spanish! Primus! You couldn't drop me in America?"

As his rant ended, he could faintly hear the sound of an approaching jet engine, and he looked to the sky, seeing a familiar form against the blackness of the night. It was a jet, but that wasn't what had Sam hitting his breaks—it was the alien markings on the jet, no doubt Starscream. For the three years he had been involved with the Autobots, he always had to sit on the sidelines, and could never help out with the fight against the Decepticons. But now, he was a mech too—he was on their level. He could fight and defend himself. Sam could imagine how impressed Bee would be if he kicked Starscream's ass all on his own. Or Mikaela, his parents, or Ironhide and Ratchet. Or Prime, even. Surely Optimus would be proud.

Starscream seemed to notice the orange Festiva's presence, descending downwards and transforming when he was close enough to the ground a short distance away from Sam, before letting out a snarl.

"All alone, little Autobot?" he hissed, before chuckling. "I'm going to crush you and use you for spare parts!"

"Oh yeah, Starscream? You wanna go? Bring it!" Sam intended, after his verbal entreaty, to transform and show his cannons, like Ironhide always liked to do. In his processor, he seemed like a fierce opponent, despite first appearing to be a Festiva. However, it seemed things didn't go as planned—especially because he couldn't figure out how to transform back into his mech form. He was stuck as a weaponless Festiva!

"You little Autobot scum! You want a challenge, you got one!" As Starscream's weapons charged, Sam let out a defined and shrill shriek, before flooring the gas pedal and taking off down the dirt road, barely evading a blast from the other's cannon. As Sam tore up the dirt, wheels spinning to reach a speed a normal Festiva couldn't go, Starscream transformed back to his alt mode, and gave chase, weapons still out and firing on Sam, who began to instinctually weave whenever he heard the cannons discharge.

"I can't save the world if Starscream blows my ass up!" Sam shrieked, his words directed to Primus despite him not being present. He was beginning to think nothing was going to be even remotely easy.

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><p>Reviews make the world go round! (They also make me write faster, HINTHINT).<p> 


	3. Smooth, Sam

**Chapter Notes:** Well, this one is still a little short, but oh well! 8D On that note, character weaponry is like, not my forte. So, I'm assuming everyone has some sort of cannon. Yes?

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><p>Sam continued to weave on the too small road, alternating curses at Starscream, Primus, and the dirt and gravel. Starscream, for still pursuing and attacking him after nearly 80 miles; Primus, for not including a manual or telling how to do anything; and the dirt and gravel because as he drove like a maniac, trying to get away from Starscream, his tires were ripping up the ground and rocks and dirt were shooting up uncomfortably against his undercarriage. Breaching 80 miles an hour, he still swerved hard when he heard the jet-former's weapons discharged, and it was working out for him—he hadn't been hit yet. So perhaps the Festiva form was good for him; he had a small enough frame that he wasn't getting hit. Yet, he couldn't help but to think how a Bugatti would have been better—he could have long outrun the jet. And yet, here he was, driving high speeds on a dirt road, gravel lodged in places he didn't know he had, letting out a shriek every time a blast landed too close to him, and praying something would happen, whether that be Primus striking Starscream down with a lightning bolt or the jet-former losing interest. He much preferred the first.<p>

Suddenly, Starscream stopped firing, and Sam could hear the jet's engines let up a fraction—and as he refocused, the orange Festiva could see why. Another couple miles ahead, he could see the familiar Peterbilt that was Optimus Prime, and behind him, the GMC Topkick that was Ironhide, and the Emergency Response Hummer Ratchet. Relief flooded his systems—Starscream wouldn't dare take on the Prime, he wasn't stupid, as he so often proclaimed. Sam hit the gas a little more, pushing himself to 90mph, and knew he wasn't going to be able to travel that for too long. But he was eager to get to Prime, to see him and the others again, even if he'd actually been dead that long.

"Prime!" Sam shouted, his voice coming out a hoarse squeak that would have had him flushing with embarrassment if he wasn't currently a Festiva. Unsure if the Autobot Commander could have heard him, he kept going, conscious of Starscream who was still looming over him.

"I'll kill you right in front of your commander!" Starscream shouted, before once again the hail of cannon fire rained down on him with renewed fury. His ability to dodge blasts decreased tenfold as the ground blew up on every side of him. Sam could feel the heat on his orange metal, and he continued swerving left and right to avoid getting scorched and possibly deactivated. Optimus was just a short distance away, he didn't want to die—again—right in front of him.

The Prime suddenly transformed, rolling before shooting a precisely aimed blast at Starscream, his right wing erupting into flames and sparks as a screech filled the air. Sam kept driving, thankful the Seeker had stopped firing on him, before he passed right between Optimus' legs, as if they were the gate to freedom. He couldn't go much further, however, and had to slam the breaks down to keep from smashing bumper first into Ironhide. Sliding in the gravel, he bounced into the Topkick's bumper, earning a rumble from the other's engine in warning. Slowly, Sam went into reverse, and backed up so he was no longer invading Ironhide's personal space, or touching him.

Ironhide and Ratchet transformed in front of him, and Optimus, once Starscream retreated, turned around to greet the orange Festiva, who was now trapped between the three mechs.

"Welcome to Earth, friend," Optimus greeted, bright blue optics looking down to the small vehicle. Sam was silent, unsure what to really say. He had looked forward to finally getting back to the Autobots, and now that he was among them, he was at a loss for words. How did one go about revealing he was a friend of theirs who had died perhaps just the night before? "Did you come on the Ark? Where are the others?"

If Sam had been at a loss for words before, he certainly was now. What was the Ark?

"Are we certain this is an Autobot, Prime, and not some human vehicle worthy of the scrap heap?" Ironhide asked, moving his servos to his hips.

"Hey! I am not for the scrap heap!" Sam protested, not thinking before speaking. "This was the only thing within a mile of my landing, and sure, it's not as shiny as some Topkick, but this alt saved my aft back there!" The three other mechs were silent regarding his outburst, before Optimus spoke again.

"He met no offense," he said, giving Ironhide a glance. "What is your name?"

"Erm… S-"

Everything went black before Sam could finished revealing himself. His processor glitched out, and he was rendered unconscious. However, when he stirred, he was once again in the pristine whiteness that he had been in before, and he was no longer an Autobot—he was his normal, human self. Glancing around as he stood up, he half expected Dumbledore to show up again. However, he was met with Primus, who was still using his holoform. The Cybertronian God cocked an eyebrow at the teenager.

"Samuel, what was one of the limitations?" he asked, voice ever calm.

"I… couldn't tell them who I was…?" he repeated, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He rubbed the back of his neck with a frown. Primus crossed his arms.

"That's correct. And who did you just try to tell Optimus you were?" Sam mumbled. "What was that?"

"Sam," he spoke, refusing to look at the other. A small smirk found its way to Primus' lips.

"Now you see what will happen if try to tell anyone who you are. You'll glitch out and meet me back here. Surely you don't need to be scolded like a child, Samuel."

"No, sir," he responded, finally bringing his eyes to the bright blue ones.

"Good. What's your name?"

"Superawesome Shot?" Sam answered, grinning. Primus rolled his eyes.

His eyesight suddenly became very fuzzy, before growing black. Sam couldn't see anything, and Primus had disappeared. Having the sensation that he was falling, he closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat. When everything settled, his eyes blinked open, revealing that he was once again a mech, and still sitting in his alt mode. His hood was open, and Ratchet was checking him over, crouched in front of the small vehicle.

"I see you've rejoined us," Ratchet commented dryly, shutting the hood. Sam had the urge to frown, but without the lip components to do so, he mentally sighed.

"Sorry about that," he explained. "I've got… issues."

"I'll say," Ironhide commented beneath his breath, only to receive a glare from Ratchet.

"My name's Rogue," Sam continued, ignoring Ironhide. As a little Festiva, there wasn't much he could do, unless he wanted to drive head-on into the onyx warrior's shins. "I didn't come on the… Ark. I came by myself." _I'm pretty good at winging things,_ Sam thought to himself.

"I see," Optimus spoke, sounding almost _disappointed_. "We were expecting the Ark, one of the Autobot ships, to be coming to Earth soon. I'm sure you're tired from your journey, Rogue. We'll show you to our current base of operations, and suit you with a different alt mode, if you would prefer."

"That'd be great," he commented, watching as they transformed back to their respected alt modes, Optimus taking the lead with Sam following, Ironhide and Ratchet following closely behind.

Optimus either preferred driving slow, or was well aware that Sam wasn't the fastest of the 'bots, because at no time did Sam drive above 50mph. Which was all right with him, the slow pace gave him time to think. He had given them his false name—something he'd have to remember to respond to—but how long until they wanted to know more about him? How long until they realized he was Sam, and not some strange Autobot? Would they even figure it out? Would he be stuck as Rogue forever? His spark twisted at the idea. He wanted the friendships he had before. Bee was his best friend, and Optimus was a close second. Would he be able to achieve such relations as Rogue?

After driving for what seemed like forever, a large facility came into view, and before he knew it, they were passing the security gates and heading inside. Optimus led him to a hanger, before he transformed. Ironhide and Ratchet followed suit, while Sam merely stopped in the middle of the hanger. This is the part where he'd transform too—but he couldn't figure out how to do so. Sam attempted everything he could to transform his body into his mech form, but none of the gears or vehicle-parts responded to his mental commands. In the midst of trying, Will entered the hanger, and immediately Sam was happy to see him.

"Will!" he exclaimed, which startled the human. Will furrowed his eyebrows while the other three mechs peered curiously at Sam.

"Have we met before…?" he asked. Sam mentally smacked himself. He wasn't Sam—he was Rogue. Rogue didn't know the man, Sam did. Damn Primus.

"What?" he asked, playing dumb in hopes of saving his aft. "I was saying 'will… will you get me… some… energon?' Yes, that's what I was saying. Is your name Will? That's an interesting coincidence." Will blinked, obvious processing what Sam had said since the mech spoke so fast, before putting on a 'whatever' face.

"Yeah, as soon as we figure out what kind of alt form you want, you're free to go. Any ideas? You can surf the web for options. We're on a budge though, so nothing extremely expensive, like a Bugatti Super Sports or Pagani Zonda Cinque," Will laughed, amused with the thoughts of any Autobot choosing such vehicles, while Sam sunk a little low on his shocks. There went his beloved Bugatti. Damn government and their money.

Searching the internet proved to be another thing Sam needed a manual for. He couldn't figure out how to get it open—wasn't his processor the equivalent of a computer? Did it get Wifi or something? Why the hell was this so hard?

"Prime!" a voice called, making the leader look away from the orange Festiva. Jazz came into the room, glancing at Sam but otherwise paying no mind. "The Ark just breached the atmosphere."

"Are you sure? Last time you said that we ended up with… _this_," Ironhide spoke, gesturing to Sam. The Festiva's engine rumbled in irritation.

"Yes, I received a comm from Prowl," Jazz offered.

"Let's greet our allies then," Optimus answered.

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><p>To everyone who reviewed last chapter: THANK YOU. Reviews make me really happy 8D<br>And, if you review this chapter too, you'll make me _even more_ happy!


	4. I Can't

**Chapter Note:** I'm not even kidding, all you guys who review make me so happy! And so, here's another chapter for you 8D Unfortunately, the chapter isn't that long; I'm setting up for the plot to deepen, which involves a few shorties. Hopefully they'll get longer though!

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><p>The Diego Garcia base was nothing if not interesting. It was different from the last time he'd seen it—like the place had undergone a full remodeling. The rooms and hallways were all resized for the Autobots, standing with high ceilings and wide walls, and the furniture was huge. Sam had never seen such a big chair in his life. Unsure of the last time he had been there, the small orange Festiva merely drove around, eager to see the place in full detail. There was still the minor problem of him being unable to change back to his mech form, which was why he opted not to go with Optimus and the others, but he would worry about that later. Right now, he was searching for something. Or, rather, <em>someone<em>.

He would be lying if he said that Bumblebee wasn't at the forefront of his mind—the yellow mech was his best friend, after all. No doubt Sam's death had been hard on him. It had probably been hard on Mikaela and his parents as well, but he couldn't do anything for them; at least, not until he could tell people he was Sam Witwicky. No doubt after the battle in Egypt they wanted nothing to do with the Autobots. After all, if he hadn't gotten involved with them, he wouldn't be dead. In fact, he wasn't sure where he'd be if it weren't for the Autobots. Perhaps in college, going after some sort of degree? Or maybe working a summer job? Instead, he was an entirely new species, one that took the identity of an orange Festiva and couldn't get out of it.

It didn't take long for Sam to find the mech he was searching for, although Bee's location did surprise him. Diego Garcia was equipped with a back lot parking zone, where it also let out to the beach. Bumblebee was parked in the way back corner, facing away from the facility. Even without being able to see the mech's face, Sam could see—practically _feel_—the depression radiating off the scout. His spark clenched tightly, wishing he could tell Bee it was him, it was Sam, and don't be upset anymore. So desperately did he want to ease whatever pain his friend was feeling, but Primus wouldn't allow such a thing, and once again Sam found himself wondering why.

"Poor guy," a voice suddenly spoke, catching Sam off guard and startling him. Seymour Simmons stood beside him, having apparently walked up when he was lost in thought, and was looking at Bee. No doubt the mech could hear the two, but Bee made no movements or sign of acknowledgement whatsoever.

"Huh?"

"He lost his best friend about a month ago. Still hasn't recovered." Sam unknowingly tensed. A month ago? There was no way he had been gone a month—Primus barely talked to him for five minutes. If it had been a month, he would have originally believed them to be recovered to some degree, or at least still functioning. Who knew how long Bee had secluded himself from the others.

"What happened?" Sam asked, despite knowing—it had been him, and he had been there the entire battle. He felt the pain of being blown up, and he felt the deeper pain of seeing his friends and family suffer. If seeing Bee was hard, no doubt seeing his parents would be especially hard.

"The bravest boy I had the pleasure of knowing sacrificed himself to save the world." Sam wan't sure what to say on that—it made his spark pulse, like some sort of honor, even if it was just coming from Simmons. At the time, when he was running across the battle zone, he wasn't thinking about the Fallen or him destroying the sun and thus the world; he was only concerned with reviving Optimus Prime, his friend. He supposed he had saved the world now that he really thought about, indirectly if anything, but he wasn't about to go around bragging—especially because he was currently Rogue to them, and not Sam.

"He sounds like a great guy…" Sam said numbly, mentally sighing. How great would it be to roll up next to Bee, and comfort the mech? Tell him his best friend was alive again, and he had no reason to be sad anymore? Sam sunk on his shocks, knowing it couldn't be.

ooooooooooooooooo :: AT THE EXPECTED ARK LANDING :: ooooooooooooooooo

Jazz couldn't remain still, and it was rapidly getting on everyone's nerves—save for perhaps Sideswipe, who was just as eager for the Ark's arrival as the third in command. Acting as commander of those on the Ark was Prowl, who was also Optimus' acting second in command. So, naturally, many couldn't await his return, but Jazz in particular was more eager than his fellow mechs. Prowl was his sparkmate, and had been since the beginning of the war. They had been separated, however, for a couple vorns now, and their bond had been strained. It was tight, faint, and in severe need of being repaired. Especially after the Mission City incident: he had been torn in half, killed immediately. That, if nothing else, damaged their bond (though Jazz wasn't sure if Prowl felt his death; he certainly hoped not, because that was a world of pain he wouldn't hope to inflict on anyone). Of course, after Prime revived him with a shard of the Allspark, the bond was replaced, but the damage had been done.

"Jazz, if you do not stop pacing, I'm going to weld your faceplates to the ground," Ratchet threatened with a growl. Jazz paused in his circling to address the medic.

"Ah can't, Hatch," he replied, accent thick in his vocalizer. "Ah'm eager ta see Prowler…" To demonstrate, he shuffled in place. Sideswipe, who was eager to see his twin, was acting opposite to his normal personality in that aspect that he was quiet and oftentimes still in place. He, like Jazz, had been separated from his bonded for far too long. His missed his brother.

"Look!" Jolt exclaimed, pointing to the sky. The mechs and humans, who were standing on the edfe of the field designated for the Ark's landing, looked up simultaneously, seeing the ship falling from space.

"Somethin's not right…" Ironhide commented. The ship didn't look like it was flying on its own accord—it looks like it was plummeting to Earth in a hail of fire and sparks. The group on Earth noticed the possible problem: following behind the Ark were three distinct seekers. They didn't do anything however, but watch the ark fall.

Jazz darted forward, unsure of what he'd do but determined to do something. However, Optimus reached out, placing a firm hand on the silver mech's shoulder to stop him. "There's nothing you can do, Jazz," he said, baritone grave. Jazz turned helplessly back to the watch the falling Ark, his spark pulsing to reach his bonded.

The Ark crashed into the open field, skidding to a complete stop on the right, a portion of the ship on fire and threatening the other half. Quickly the spectating Autobots mobilized, Sideswipe and Jazz leading the way, their tires tearing up the grassy plane. As they arrived, the emergency exit was blown open, and first out was Wheeljack, followed by Cliffjumper who was carrying Bluestreak, Mirage, Hound, Inferno who supported Red Alert, and finally, Sunstreaker who supported an injured Prowl.

"Prowler!" Jazz exclaimed, moving over to his bondmate, who was suddenly wearing a disbelieving expression as his doorwings twitched.

"Jazz… you're alive…" the second in command commented, resetting his optics to be sure that's what he was seeing. Jazz noticed, in that moment, that their bond wasn't flaring up, and he had the same empty feeling he had when they were lightyears away. Their bond was broken. Jazz took the monochrome mech from Sunstreaker, so he could get Prowl over to Ratchet, who was tending to Bluestreak and Red Alert, and so the twins could reunite themselves. Jazz frowned.

"Ah was… revived?" he commented. Prowl was silent for a moment, before his logic circuit shorted, his processor glitching out as he went completely limp again Jazz's frame. "Oompf! Hatchet!"

Optimus' optics were on the sky, watching for any signs of the Seeker Trine attacking. The sky was clear, however, meaning they had left. Ironhide moved over to the commander.

"Somethin's going on, Prime," he commented, optics glanced to the arrived mechs, who were either assisting Ratchet or the injured, or scanning their alt mode the humans brought. Optimus glanced back at them, before looking to the sky again.

"What are you up to, Megatron?" he hummed, sharing the same feeling; something wasn't right.

"Prime," Cliffjumper called, approaching Optimus. "During our descent, Skywarp warped onboard, and kidnapped First Aid…"

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><p>I adore any and all reviews!<p> 


	5. Oops

"Quickly, Starscream, before we miss our chance," Megatron commanded, before stepping into the waiting stasis chamber. Once the glass slid closed, the Seeker began to grumble although it was unheard over the computer announcing the stasis program had initiated. Starscream reached down to the offline Autobot, lifting him up without care. First Aid's frame was mangled and dented, barely recognizable. In stasis lock, he was limp in Starscream's grasp as the 'con moved him over to a separate chamber, which was connected to both a larger one and Megatron's. In the larger chamber was a contained black mist like substance, and it was obvious that it was corroding the metal. The moment First Aid was secure, Starscream moved quickly to the control panel. If they didn't do this in the few minutes they had before the mist escaped from the chamber, it was very likely they'd all perish.

Pushing a few buttons and then pulling the lever, the mist was released into First Aid's chamber. Starscream watched through the thick glass as the 'bot's metal began eroding to dust under the mist's pressure, only astroseconds passing by before the bright blue spark was revealed. The mist seemed to leave it alone for a moment—but only for a moment, before absorbing it completely, killing First Aid without the mech even knowing what had happened. The mist then changed from black to a deep purple color, and Starscream knew it was time for phase two of their plan.

Moving to the control panel again, he pulled another lever, this time the mist being released into Megatron's stasis chamber. Now, all he could do was wait.

It seemed like joors before the stasis program began shutting down, and the glass slid open, revealing Megatron. He appeared not different, and Starscream was vaguely disappointed to see him still alive, without a speck of rust on him. When his optics onlined, it was revealed they were no longer a menacing red, but a soft, diluted red with flakes of gold. Starscream's waited for the mech to step out, servos crossing over his chassis.

"Well?" he asked, impatient. Megatron crushed his servo into a tight fist.

"… It is time to end this war," the Decepticon Leader snarled, looking to the sky of Cybertron. The planet had long ago met its end, and was nothing but a wasteland now. Opening a communication line with Soundwave, Megatron demanded the results for the second half of their plan.

::Mission: Success:: the telepath reported. ::Autobots: Disorganized. Ark crew: Injured::

"Good. We'll kill them all in one final battle."

ooooooooooooo :: AT ARK CRASH SITE :: ooooooooooooo

"Are they stable enough for transport?" Optimus asked, eyes sweeping over the prone forms of Bluestreak, Red Alert and Prowl. They had been the most injured of the crew, and Ratchet had been tending to them while the others went on ahead to get back to base as well as scan their alt modes along the way. Only Ratchet, Optimus, Ironhide, Inferno and Jazz had remained behind. Ratchet, who was currently working on resetting Prowl's logic circuits, glanced to his other two patients with weary optics. Really, they shouldn't be moved in favor of not aggravating wounds, but where they were, well, they were open targets. Optimus wasn't the only one who had seen the Seekers.

"We need to get them back to base, and out of the open," he said lazily, standing up. Prowl's circuitry would have to wait. Jazz frowned, but otherwise didn't say anything. Optimus merely nodded.

"We have to wait for the transportation truck—Lennox said it'd be here within a couple breems," Ironhide reported, optics still occasionally scanning the sky should the Seekers return. The Prime nodded, and hearing the time he had, Ratchet turned back to Prowl.

Jazz waited beside his mate, hand gently caressing the other's armor, thinking of how to explain his death without causing the other to glitch out, but he was beginning to get the idea that it'd be impossible. He _died_. Their bond was broken. The saboteur felt stupid for not realizing it sooner. He thought the separation was the reason that it was so weak, so nonexistent. Sighing softly, the anxious feeling to re-bond with his mate filled his spark.

ooooooooooooo :: AT DIEGO GARCIA :: ooooooooooooo

The news about the new mechs had reached even Sam's audios, but he had no desire to go and greet other mechs right now. Instead, he remained in the back lot that Bumblebee had been occupying, sitting on his shocks and mentally willing the yellow scout to somehow figure it out that he was Sam Witwicky, and not just some annoying Autobots that was encroaching on his mourning. At least, that's what the Festiva assumed he was doing. Mourning, being depressed, etc., even though the one person he was expressing those emotions for was sitting several parking spaces away.

In the midst of his thinking, two similar sounding engines purred, catching Sam's attention. Twin Lamborghini models rolled in, one red, one yellow, approaching Bee slowly before parking on either side of him.

"Hey Bumblebee," the red one greeted. "Thought you'd be more surprised to see us." The two didn't get an answer. The yellow Camaro remained still, not voicing a thing, and Sam felt like his spark was crushing in his chassis. The yellow one gunned his engine.

"Come on, Sideswipe, he doesn't want to talk to us right now," he muttered, almost a little bitter about it, before pulling from his space. Sam was beginning to wonder if they had seen him, or thought that he was just perhaps some human's car. He preferred the latter, but it seemed to be the former as the yellow pulled to a stop right in front of him, with the red one behind him.

"Who're you?" Yellow demanded, almost rudely.

"Um… Rogue." It took him a minute, to remember that he wasn't supposed to answer with his real name. "Who're you?"

"Sunstreaker, and that's Sideswipe. We're the best frontliners the Autobot army has, and, of course, the best looking." His engine purred, as if to solidify that fact.

"I don't find you particularly attractive," Sam stated, before thinking of how the obviously vain mech might take that. In a moment's notice, Sunstreaker transformed into his bi-pedal mode, propping his servos on his hips and hovering over the Festiva. Sam sunk a little lower on his shocks.

"Did you just call me _ugly_?" Sunstreaker demanded.

"Not specifically, no. I may have implied it." Why couldn't he stop talking? He didn't want to be punted. The mech glowered, and Sam feared a little bit more for his safety.

"Do you have a death wish?"

"It's kind of seeming that way, isn't it?" he mumbled lamely. Before Sunstreaker could punt him (because Sam was wholly convinced that was what the golden twin wanted to do), explosions ruptured his audio sensors, the pavement of the parking lot being torn up as dirt and concrete sailed through the air. Immediately the four mechs outside were moving for cover, and Sam was glad that Bumblebee wasn't depressed enough to just sit there and let the attackers kill him off.

Speaking of attackers, Sam scanned the sky, quickly finding the problem: Seekers. Starscream was absent, but there were two others that the Festiva didn't know the names of. And, to make the entire situation worse, Sam was stuck in his alt mode. Why couldn't Primus include an owner's manual again?

"Aw, look, a welcome home party!" Sunstreaker shouted, him and Sideswipe both transformed now.

"It's been a while since we've used our jet-judo… think we're rusty?" the red twin asked, looking to his brother from where they had momentarily taken cover. They exchanged looks for a long minute, before laughing. As they suddenly rushed forward to take on the Seekers, Sam looked around for the yellow Camaro, concerned about him. What if he had been hit? Ratchet wasn't back yet, so who would take care of the injuries?

His fears were misplaces when the Camaro emerged from where he had taken cover and transformed, arm changing to his weapon with intentions to aid the twins.

The orange festiva could hear the alarms all over the base, alerting the NEST teams that their base was under attack. Sam, meanwhile, was at a loss for what to do—in his alt mode, he was virtually useless, especially against Seekers. He couldn't even attempt to run them over, or abuse their shins. He would be forced to sit there and watch as his best friend and the twins took on the invading Decepticons.

Sam watched the fight diligently, watching as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker employed teamwork to attack and defend against the two Seekers, while Bumblebee tried to help the best he could from the ground. It was because he watched so intently that he realized more Decepticons were arriving—stepping out of the water as though they had swam there (which, he would not put it past them). It was Soundwave and his cassettes that appeared first, followed by several other mechs. Bumblebee, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker were outnumbered, he realized. Where were the other 'bots? Didn't they hear the alarms?

As if they heard his thoughts, he could hear the heavy footsteps of Autobots rushing towards their end of the base, as well as mobilizing humans. Making sure he was out of the way, he watched as several unfamiliar mechs—as well as a couple femmes—moved by.

"Someone comm' Prime!" Wheeljack instructed, before they moved into battle to defend against the waves of incoming Decepticons. With some horror, Sam realized that they were still outnumbered by the Decepticons—and also, Megatron and Starscream were not present.

The orange festiva, out of the wish to not be destroyed or get in anyone's way, hung back, although faced the consequences of watching each of the Autobot's on the field fall.

The Arcee triplets were first, the Combaticon's outnumbering them and bringing them down almost viciously, and Sam was left wondering if they were even alive. Wheeljack went second, losing a fight to Shockwave, before Sideswipe and Sunstreaker went down due to a combined effort from the two Seekers, who Sam learned were Thundercracker and Skywarp, and Soundwave. Bumblebee was the last to fall, taking a blow to the chassis from Soundwave. The human forces, armored vehicles, aerial assaults and human troops, were completely useless to the cause.

Sam looked over the devastated field with a tightening spark. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't brought back to life to watch half the Autobots—and his best friend—be slaughtered. It begged the question: Was he going to stand there now, behind the little bit of rubble he called a shield, and let the Decepticons finish off those who were still alive? What could he do to stop them? He wasn't even able to transform!

"Let this be a warning, Autobots," Soundwave spoke, voice uninhibited. "Surrender all forces before dawn, or Megatron will not be merciful to those who survive."

After having delivered their message, the Decepticons took their leave, not sparing a second glance back at the now mostly stasis locked Autobots.


	6. Saving Me

Oai! Since I took so long to post that last chapter, here's a second one! Yay! As always, I love all of those who review, and you really, really make me happy! So, I'd love if you'd review this chapter, too! If only to let me know how you feel about it! Thanks!

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><p>The sight was devastating. The back lot of the Diego Garcia base was splattered with ruthlessly spilled energon, torn metal, and the mangled frames of half of the Autobot army. Optimus had received a plea for back-up from Bumblebee, who managed to break through the interference and tell the Prime they were under attack—the Decepticons had come knocking on their front door, so to say. Immediately he was ordering the few left at the Ark landing site to mobilize. Inferno remained behind to secure the injured, and Ratchet had to go because there would no doubt be injuries. With all his spark the Prime was hoping there wouldn't be any fatalities. This should have been a time for celebration; they had been reunited with their fellow comrades, and the war would surely be over soon. However, Optimus hadn't expected the Ark to be shot down, nor did he correctly handle the situation. Prowl and Jazz were his second and third in command, respectively, and they were with him at the Ark crash site. It essentially boiled down to: The entire chain of command was absent from the currently under-attack base. Pushing his alt mode to the greatest speeds it could achieve—which was far greater than what a human-made Peterbilt could reach—Optimus tried to open a comm' line with anyone that was on base, only to find all his attempts blocked by some sort of interference.<p>

"Ratchet…" Optimus breathed, watching the medic move quickly over the field. He, along with Jazz and Ironhide, were at loss for what to do themselves. They weren't medics. They had no training with this sort of thing. From what the Prime could see, Bumblebee lay sprawled on the ground, energon dripping from the gaping wound in his chassis, Arcee, Elita-One and Chromia lay in a tangled mass of metal off to the side, and he couldn't see the details of Cliffjumper, Wheeljack or Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but they lay motionless in splatters of energon across the field.

"They need to be taken to the medical bay, immediately," Ratchet spoke, his vocalizer restrained. A giant burden had just been placed on his shoulders. He had eight mechs and femmes on his servos, each with grave, possibly spark-threatening injuries, and he had no help whatsoever. Wheeljack was down, and First Aid had been kidnapped. It was an impossible situation made worse; these mechs and femmes weren't just soldiers. They were his friends. He was struggling to push the thought back that they would not all live because he could not save them all.

The chartreuse mech was stretching himself thin as Optimus, Jazz and Ironhide helped to transfer the injured. He needed to see everyone's wounds, judge who needed to be tended to first. It seemed the winner of "Most Gravely Injured" fell to Bumblebee; the scout's chassis injury was too close to his spark chamber, and Ratchet wasn't even sure if he could save the yellow 'bot—or, it was cruel to think, he knew, if he should waste valuable time trying. The time and supplies he put towards Bumblebee could go towards the others.

In the end, the Chief Medical Officer couldn't bring himself to sentence Bumblebee to death. He had to try to save him. The wound needed to be stabilized, as it was drawing a lot of the offline mech's energy to maintain systems around it—vital systems, at that. Hooking up an energon line was vital, to make sure he didn't run out, before finally Ratchet could set to work repairing the injury itself. It required a lot of welding, but finally the medic managed to get it covered—if only primitively. The job was crude, but it'd keep Bumblebee from bleeding out, and hopefully allow for his core systems to stabilize.

Ratchet moved on to the next patient, which happened to be Sunstreaker. This was a particularly tricky case—if Sunstreaker deactivated, it'd be only a matter of days before Sideswipe followed right after, due to their bond being severed. Sideswipe's injuries put him at the bottom of the list—he'd survive, but not if his brother died.

"Ratchet…" a soft voice spoke, drawing him away from gathering the things he needed to repair the golden warrior. He turned, seeing the grave look on Jazz's faceplates. "Cliffjumper... he deactivated." The medic's spark twisted in his chassis, a stab-like pain nearly making him drop to his knee. Losing a patient you were responsible was never easy, and because it was a patient and a friend, Ratchet felt the burden intensify, begging him not to lose another patient that night.

ooooooooooooo :: OPTIMUS' OFFICE :: ooooooooooooo

Remaining idle on his shocks, the orange festiva was lost in thought, all too aware of how badly things were looking. Perhaps not to others, but to him, it was terrible. He had touched down on Earth, and was brought back to the Diego Garcia base, before it was suddenly attacked by Decepticons. While the other Autobots fought gallantly, he was hiding behind some rubble. Not to mention, he was the only one still conscious when the rest of the team arrived. Speculation of him working with the Decepticons was possible, as, after all, he didn't do a damn thing to help. Although that weighed heavily with him, his main concern lied with Bumblebee. Sam had seen the grave look on Ratchet's faceplates, the injury in Bumblebee's chassis. What if he didn't survive? Then Sam would be there, alive, mourning his best friend, like Bumblebee had been for him. A jolt of electricity ran through his systems, similar to a shudder.

"Rogue," Optimus spoke, coming into the office. Sam had been instructed to wait there, while the Prime assisted with bringing the others to the medical bay. At first, Sam didn't say anything, his spark still twisting at the thought of Bumblebee dying.

"Is… is Bee all right?" he asked, surprised at the soft decibels his vocalizer produced. The Autobot Leader's expression softened, his position relaxing against his giant desk.

"We are waiting for him to stabilize, but for the moment, it appears he will pull through." Sam wanted to jump for joy. Bumblebee would, from the sounds of it, be all right. "Do you know him?" The once-human-now-mech realized that, had there been a record player going, this would have been the moment it scratched to a halt. Sam knew Bumblebee. Rogue did not. If he were to say yes, then it could possibly come back around to bite him in the aft. Particularly when Bumblebee woke up, and denied knowing him. Then they'd think he was a creepy robot stalker or something.

"No, I just… I just know his injuries were bad…" he said, thinking quickly. "What about everyone else? Sideswipe, Sunstreaker?" Those were the only two he knew. The rest of the mechs that had arrived to the battle were new, and Sam did not know their names.

"Cliffjumper… has deactivated. Ratchet is working on Sunstreaker now." Sam felt his spark twist a little. He wasn't sure who Cliffjumper was, but part of his mind nagged on him; what if he had helped somehow? Figured out how to transform, how to fight? Would the results have been any different? Another part of him said no. If anything, he'd only have ended up like the others, and then there'd be no one else to relay Megatron's message. That had been the first thing out of Sam's lip components. Megatron was going to come back and destroy everything if they didn't surrender.

"You were not a fighter on Cybertron, were you, Rogue?" the Prime asked, looking down on the orange festiva. He wasn't asking why Sam wasn't changing to his root mode, and for that, he was grateful. The implications suddenly gave the mech an advantage. This would work for him—a reason for why he wasn't fighting. But then again, it would potentially sideline him in the war.

"I-I was," he said, mentally berating himself for the stutter. That was certainly convincing. "I just… I've never seen a Decepticon up close. That's it. They caught me off guard. Next time though, they'll be sorry I was there!" Despite him rambling, some part of that held true. He was incredibly angry with the Decepticons for what they had done to be, and if anything, he wanted to go hunt down Soundwave and kick his aft for what he did. A small smile came to Optimus' faceplates.

"You are young, Rogue. You do not have to pretend. Ironhide will teach you how to fight—although I'd rather you not have to participate. I don't believe this is something someone of your age should see." Did he think he was a child? Sam was dumbstruck. "Just like Bumblebee. So young. Ah, Ironhide." The onyx warrior came into the office with heavy steps, looking down at the orange festiva.

"This is what I've been reduced to? Teachin' and babysittin' sparklings?" Sparkling? Despite not knowing what that was (although assuming it was a reference to him being young) Sam knew he should probably be offended.

"We'll need all the help we can get, old friend," Optimus said. Ironhide grumbled under his breath, before looking to Sam like he was contemplating kicking him. In a moment's notice, Ironhide transformed to his Topkick mode, before backing out of the office. Sam, who understood he should probably follow, put himself in reverse and headed after the truck in silence.

He wasn't sure where they were going, but it was quickly revealed the Autobots had a training range set up. It wasn't much more than a cleared area and sand. Ironhide transformed easily, moving out to the center of the area, before realizing that Sam was still sitting on the outer edge, idle, and not transforming. He grunted (angrily, Sam would say), before putting his servos on his hips.

"What is your problem?" he demanded.

"Problem? I don't have a problem, no sir." It wasn't so much as a problem as it was a crisis. He was expected to learn to fight, in the short period of time they had before Megatron came back around, and he couldn't transform to his bi-pedal mode! Part of him really, really didn't want to tell Ironhide about that. As if to prove he didn't have a problem, he drove forward, off the cement, and into the sand.

And got stuck.

His back tires spun helplessly in the sand, shooting it behind him. Ironhide just stared at him, probably contemplating blasting him and calling it self-defense against idiocy.

"Were you dropped on your head as a sparkling? Or did you hit it on something blunt on your way to Earth?" the mech asked, not quite sure how to handle the situation, or really, not sure what was wrong with the orange festiva.

"Were you hit by the ugly bus, or were you made that way?" Sam snapped, irritated that he couldn't get out of the sand. Still, his tires spun, and he moved nowhere. Ironhide's engine gunned lowly, evidence he didn't quite appreciate the comment.

"Transform you rust bucket. We don't have all fraggin' day!"

"I can't! There, I admitted it! I can't transform!" he shouted. Surprisingly, he felt a little better having finally gotten it off his chassis. Ironhide stood there, silent.

"Are you damaged—" he finally asked, tone a little kind than before, though the difference was marginal, at best.

"No, I just don't know how to transform."

"Definitely dropped on your head as a sparkling."


End file.
